Descriptions
by Emerald Embers
Summary: A little exchange between Kael and Illidan.


Descriptions 

by Emerald Embers

Rated PG. Mostly harmless.

Non-profit fan-fiction

Notes: Gen-fic, because Kael wasn't in the mood for anything else at the time ;). Some insinuation of het. Also a little aimless, mostly because there's a plethora of epic Warcraft III stories out there already.

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Illidan's head was tilted up, facing the trees, though he could not see the forest; and not for overlooking the larger picture in favour of details either. His blindness had nearly driven him mad when he first became aware of it, but with time one got used to these things. Well, a little used.

He wished he could see the things that were new. Oh, he remembered every lovely curve of Tyrande's face, the harsh cruelty of Maiev's, and the misplaced intelligence of his brother's. Furion liked to emit a permanent aura of knowledge, but he was far more of an innocent than he knew.

Illidan had been greedy, that he knew; but not greedy without reason. Magic was a drug, addictive and heady. He had needed more, to gain more power. That path had been closed to him in the end. But his intentions had always been overall good; not for him any dreams of ravaging worlds with his new-found strength, raping the lands. He had always wished for what he viewed as the better paths of life, though he chose a more circuitous route than most.

His nose twitched, lips following as he became aware of the intruder into his personal space. Kael'thas, the young blood elf. To be fair, only young in night elf terms, but nonetheless. "You look disturbed."

"No more than usual," Illidan replied, clicking the claws of his right hand together. "I cannot sleep in this place. It's too quiet; forces one to think."

Kael nodded, folding his arms and shifting backwards to sit against a particularly large rock, ignoring the cold and damp of snow trying to seep through his armour. "And what do you think about?" The question was blunt, yet oddly friendly. No forced prodding in any particular direction. For all Kael cared, Illidan could have replied 'rabbits'.

"Nothing in particular. The thoughts drift. Mostly musing on regrets."

"Ah. Familiar territory for me as well, I fear." Illidan sensed a smile coming with that comment. "And I have not slept well either." There was silence for a moment, neither man particularly keen to continue the conversation on these veins. At least, so it seemed, until Kael spoke up again. "Do you actually remember the last time you truly slept well?"

Illidan laughed bitterly. "When you've spent ten-thousand years in darkness, you lose track of when you're sleeping and when you're awake. I presume I must have managed a good few uninterrupted centuries."

Kael nodded carefully, surprisingly un-awkward considering Illidan's tone. "I remember, largely because of the interesting pillow." A soft sigh. "She was beautiful."

Illidan smiled a little at this, remembering Tyrande, and satisfied with the knowledge that blind or not, Kael would still only be able to describe his woman through words. "Women often are. They're more effective at making traitors than any other creatures on this planet." A pause as he contemplated the situation. "What does your race look like? I imagine you would be similar to us, but my imagination has not been so keen of late."

Kael whistled as he tried to think of the major differences. "We are... closer to the high elves of old in appearance. We tend towards blond or light brown hair, and our skin does not have the blue tinge of your kind."

"Tan?"

"No, pale. And there is less difference in stature between our men and women. Your men tend to be larger than your women; for us, the difference is greatly reduced, and our women are not as slight."

"Ah." Illidan smiled, recalling his memories of humans and shaping them accordingly. "Then you too are fair?"

"Blond, yes."

A laugh. "The image... does not match your voice. You have a dark voice."

"I have a dark thirst," Kael began, before smirking. "But it is something I have been told often enough before. No, they don't quite fit."

"If it is not too much trouble, might I get an idea of your features?" He raised a hand, signifying how precisely a man without eyesight did his 'looking'. Kael nodded, before realising the little use this gesture had, and took Illidan's hand, pressing it flat against his forehead. It did not take long for Illidan to get an idea of the elf's bone structure and skin texture, and he smiled in recognition of the over-long eyebrows. He had forgotten to ask if blood elves retained the exaggerated eyebrows of their brethren. "You have a woman's cheeks," he laughed as he pulled back his hand. "But your jawline is strong enough. I take it your hand-to-hand combat is as good as your magic?"

"That it is," Kael replied, straightening his eyebrows with pinched thumb and forefinger. "I have not yet had the pleasure of fighting close with you. I assume your skills have not faded with imprisonment?"

Illidan shook his head. "Not so long as I dreamed of splitting my warden's skull. It is easier to retain one's sanity if they have a focus."

Kael tilted his head towards the forest, keen eyes catching the movement of a wolf in the distance. "The air is getting colder around here. I fear we may not be able to rest much longer. Will you be retiring soon?"

"I have slept long enough."

"Very well then," Kael replied before standing up, brushing off any snow still clinging to his damp cloak. "I shall see you before we next move on." A last quick adjustment to his armour, and Kael headed off inside the ring of tents.

Illidan listened to the blood elf's retreating footsteps before whistling quietly, calling to the wolf he had smelt in the distance. It knew well enough to stay in its own territory, recognising a kindred spirit, and one with greater strength at that. The cold season was stretching ever-longer in this place, signifying the imbalance framing the world as this time. Illidan sensed that there were not many nights left for the world in its current state, the fabric of the universe wound too tight and waiting to fray, and for the first time he wondered exactly how successful his campaign would be.

It seemed that only time itself would tell.

- End


End file.
